


it takes two to tango

by deathlycedric (jmichelledsky)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dancing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, HP: EWE, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pining, Private Investigators, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11534448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmichelledsky/pseuds/deathlycedric
Summary: or, how harry potter found his dancing feet, his sexuality, and caught a murderer."'So, how was Potter’s dancing for the first time?' Pansy asked.'Was it horrible?' Blaise asked. When Draco didn’t reply, Millicent leaned forward. 'Did he get a boner? Did you get a boner?' Theo grinned, 'I bet they both got boners and just ended up shagging.'"





	1. 1 - slow, slow, quick, quick

**Author's Note:**

> for my friend julia xoxo <33333 the draco 2 my harry
> 
> not beta'd - all mistakes are my own

The summer of ’05 dawned hot and humid. Draco Malfoy, who had taken to wearing long sleeves year-round, was fighting the urge to go outside in a loosely buttoned polo shirt. He looked longingly at said polo in his closet. It was shoved between two identical-looking long black robes, one with a gold trim and one with a silver. Draco never wore the robes, either. He sighed, scratching at an invisible bug on his left forearm and stood up, marking his place in his book, some trashy romance novella that Pansy left at his house a few weeks back. The pirate on the cover winked at Draco, and he scowled at the illustration, flipping it so he couldn’t see the pirate or the damsel he clutched in his arms. 

Draco shed his outer robe, flicking his wand at the curtains so that they flew shut. He knelt on the floor in front of his closet, one hand holding the hems of his pants out of his face as the other grasped for a large cardboard box well-hidden in the back. He opened it, pulling out first a pair of worn black jazz shoes and one of his usual dancing outfits, a simple blue shirt and leggings. Objects in hand, Draco descended to the basement of his tiny remote cottage.

The previous owners of the cottage had laid down carpeted floors and a pool table in the only finished room. Draco ignored the table and nudged another door open with his hip to reveal a dance studio, complete with shiny floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Draco changed, pulled his hair back with a ribbon, and flicked his wand at the radio in the corner. It began to play some sort of Portuguese instrumental music, tinny guitars sounding over the speaker system. 

“And a five, six, seven, eight,” Draco counted under his breath after a hurried stretch, going from a plié to third position and then raising his leg straight up. He was in the middle of his eighth fouette when his wand vibrated violently. Draco wobbled, leaning to one side, and caught himself on a bar with a frown. 

Pansy was at his floo. Of course. 

Draco didn’t bother to change before going upstairs, swiping a water bottle from the Muggle ice box the previous owners left behind. “Pans, can’t you just send an owl?” he began in a world-weary way. “Sorry, it was important,” said an unfamiliar voice – a male voice. Draco, who had just taken a sip of water, choked and water dribbled down his chin. He Vanished it irritably. 

“Potter? What in the name of Merlin’s great saggy-“

“Draco, calm down,” said another voice, and Draco swiveled to see Pansy sitting in his favorite armchair, picking at her cuticles nonchalantly. “Pansy, a word, if you please,” Draco hissed, grabbing her arm and dragging her into his kitchen. 

“Why is Potter here!” he whisper-yelled. “We haven’t said a word to each other since-“ 

“Since the war, Dray, we know,” Pansy said, reaching for the bowl of fruit on Draco’s counter. He slapped her hand away. “Why is Potter in my house, Parkinson?” he demanded, leaning discreetly around the edge of the kitchen doorway to make sure Potter wasn’t in the midst of burning his cottage down. 

“Potter’s not going to break your little knick-knacks, calm down,” Pansy said in an annoyed tone. “He’s too busy checking out your arse in those leggings,” she snickered. Draco’s pale cheeks flushed. He had forgotten all about his choice of attire, and wordlessly Summoned a robe from his closet to wrap around himself. “Potter needs help,” Pansy continued as if nothing had happened. Draco hoped that Potter hadn’t seen the robe zooming from his bedroom to the kitchen. “With what?” Draco asked after a pregnant pause. Pansy grinned and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He needs dancing help,” she said. Draco, who had leaned in to hear this, jerked away like he’d been stung. “I’ll teach Potter to dance when hell freezes over,” he said, purposefully raising his voice in the hopes that Potter would feel unwelcome and leave.

No such luck. Pansy pushed Draco back into the living room. “He’d be glad to help you,” she told Potter. When Draco opened his mouth, she clapped her palm over it. Potter glanced between the two of them. “Er, are you sure, Malfoy?” he asked. “You don’t sound like you want to do it. And, uh, did you change your clothes?”

“Give us a moment, please,” Draco said through gritted teeth, wrenching Pansy’s hand away from his mouth.

“I’m not doing it!” he protested vehemently. “Let Potter find another dance teacher – the Weasley’s are purebloods, they’ve probably had lessons. Have girl Weasley teach him how to polka.” Pansy arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, “There’s the annual Halloween Ministry Ball in a few months, and Potter told me that there’s someone there he wants to impress.”  
It was Draco’s turn to arch his eyebrows. “Potter told you? I find that hard to believe.”

Pansy exhaled heavily through her nose. Draco wouldn’t have been surprised to see flames shoot out. “No, Potter told Hermione, and she asked me if I knew anyone who danced.”  
“How is Granger these days, by the way?” Draco asked, leaning his elbows on the countertop. Pansy immediately acquired a dreamy look. “We went to Turks and Caicos for our six-month anniversary, it was lovely – but you already knew that.” Her dreamy look faded back to her usual businesslike determination. “Draco, he’s willing to pay, and he inherited the Black fortune after your cousin Sirius died.” She turned pleading eyes on him. “Plus, if you teach him well and word gets out that you taught the Chosen One how to dance, you’ll have a booming business in no time!”  
“I already have a booming business,” Draco mumbled grumpily, already aware that he was losing this battle. “Yes, of Muggles,” Pansy reminded him gently. “If you’re seen hanging out with Potter, you could be redeemed,” she continued to cajole, until finally Draco groaned and stomped back into the living room. 

“You’ll come here once a week for two hours or twice a week one hour each, sixty Galleons per hour. Owl me the day or days you will be attending and the times you are available. I also host a group class with some Muggles from the village every Thursday that I encourage you to attend. I will owl you the details,” Draco said, tilting his chin up to look Potter in the eye. He stuck out his hand. Potter took it.  
“By the Halloween Ball, I guarantee you will have learned to dance.”

At least enough to impress some twittering broad, Draco thought, even as Potter beamed his thanks. 

-

Draco received an owl the next week. It was a plain-looking, if rather large, barn owl that held too tightly to the message that Draco was forced to wrench from its talons. When he unrolled it, there were claw marks puncturing the message. Obviously, Potter needed a better trained bird. In between the rips and Potter’s atrocious handwriting, he managed to piece together when he could drop by for the ridiculous dance lessons. Draco penned a response back in his usual flowing script. “If you rip this that paper won’t be the only thing torn to shreds,” he threatened the owl even as he handed it a handful of Cockroach Clusters. It ruffled its wings indignantly and took flight. 

Only a few hours had gone by before the Floo roared to life. “Hi, Malfoy,” said Potter’s green-tinged head, sticking out of Draco’s fireplace. “I got your owl. Is it alright if we have a lesson today? I’m free right now.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, not bothering to kneel to Potter’s level. “Yes, come through,” he said, setting his letter and quill aside. St. Mungo’s would still be there in the morning, after all. 

“Potter, this is a dance lesson, not a backyard game of Quidditch,” Draco snapped at him as soon as he stepped inside. Potter was wearing extremely worn trainers with grass stains, faded jeans, and a muscle tank. Draco resolutely did not stare at Potter’s biceps. Potter glanced down at his attire in surprise. “Oh. I can go back and change, I suppose, but I don’t have anything to, er, dance in, really.” Draco felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache come on. “It’s fine,” he said. “You can wear that for today, but next time you’ll need proper dancing shoes and pants. What’s your shoe size?”  
Potter told him, a bit baffled as Draco summoned a box of jazz shoes from his studio. “I always have extras on hand in case any of my first-timers forget,” he informed Potter, who had dumped his muddy sneakers on Draco’s Persian rug. As soon as Potter had squeezed his gigantic feet into Draco’s poor shoes, Draco snapped his fingers for the stereo to play a warm-up song.  
“Let’s start with kicks – and a five, six, seven, eight!” 

-

“How many times in your life have you ever danced, Potter?” Draco asked at the end of the lesson, his toes smarting from being stepped on.  
“You just saw it,” Potter answered, rubbing at the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. Draco frowned, “No, you danced at the Yule Ball in our fourth year, however horribly, and there must have been occasions since then. The Ministry held heaps of balls in the honor of our Savior.” He said the word “savior” as one might say “cockroach,” or “dung-beetle.”  
Potter shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Well, I danced at, er, my wedding,” he admitted, and Draco winced. Potter and girl-Weasley’s very public, very messy divorce happened only a few years ago. Draco loathed to admit that he, Pansy, and Blaise followed it hungrily in the papers for more news of Potter’s humiliation. 

“Well, for a beginner, you were very, how shall I phrase this…” Draco began.

“Awful?” Potter suggested, having changed back into his dirt-covered clothes. 

“That’s one word for it, yes,” Draco said. “Though I would have gone for ‘needs improvement.’” 

As Potter counted out his Galleons for the lesson, he flashed Draco a grin. “Maybe by the end of this I’ll even have achieved an ‘Outstanding,’ instead of a ‘Troll.’” Draco merely sniffed in response, and Potter stepped through the fireplace and disappeared. 

Draco retired to his favorite armchair with yet another trashy romance novel Pansy left behind.

Perhaps she was trying to tell him something. 

-

Potter’s first lesson had been on a Monday, but instead of next coming on Saturday, as planned, he showed up ten minutes late to Draco’s walk-ins-welcome Thursday night class. Draco had subtly used a charm to expand his rather cramped dance room into a large area for all the Muggles that dropped by. While in the middle of stretching, Draco nearly tore a ligament when Potter crept in, this time dressed in loose black pants and proper jazz shoes. 

“Everyone get a partner, we’ll be learning the fox trot today,” Draco said over the din of twenty people stretching. As Draco suspected he would, Potter sidled up to him. “There’s an uneven number of students, and what better dance partner than the teacher?” he winked, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, but the teacher always demonstrates the dance with his partner. Do you remember the fox trot from our last lesson?” At Potter’s hesitation, Draco just sighed. “Just follow my lead.” He walked over to turn on the stereo – couldn’t have Muggles witnessing magic, after all – and made his way back to Potter. “One hand goes on my hip, the other on my shoulder,” he reminded Potter as the other dancers cleared a space for them. 

Draco wasted no time into sweeping Potter in wide circles on the floor, confidently leading Potter into where he needed to be even though Potter was several inches taller than he. Potter stumbled a few times and stepped on Draco’s poor, fragile toes, muttering under his breath. When Draco concentrated, he could hear Potter counting the beats to himself. For some reason, that made Draco smile.  
Draco suddenly dropped his hand from Potter’s shoulder, and walked over to the radio to pause the music. “Okay, everyone, get into position with your partner. Remember, the person leading puts their hand on the other’s shoulder and the one following puts their hand on their partner’s waist.” Even though Potter had moved his hand away, Draco could still feel its grip on his waist like a bruise he badly wanted to prod. “Now the fox trot is a dance with four beats per measure, and the rhythm is slow, slow, quick, quick…”

-

“So, how was Potter’s dancing for the first time?” Pansy asked, slurping her electric blue drink through a similarly colored straw. “Was it horrible?” Blaise asked. When Draco didn’t reply, Millicent leaned forward. “Did he get a boner? Did you get a boner?” Theo grinned, “I bet they both got boners and just ended up shagging.”

“No one got any boners!” Draco replied, far too loudly. The bartender stopped watering down a beer to give to some unsuspecting patron to stare at their group of five. Draco scowled at her before turning back to his friends. “No one got any boners, you tossers,” he repeated, quieter, and took a sip of his rum and coke. “He's paying me to teach him how to dance, so I'm teaching him how to dance,” Draco said in annoyance as his friends all shared knowing looks. 

Suddenly, a rousing cheer came from the patrons. Draco’s stomach dropped, and he slowly turned around on his wobbly bar stool. There in the doorway, as if summoned by Pansy’s wiggling eyebrows and leering looks, stood the bloody Chosen One with several of his companions. Draco recognized the two Weasley’s, Granger, and Longbottom. Granger spotted them first, and came over to say hi and give Pansy a kiss on the cheek. Lovegood, unseen, drifted out from behind Potter and over to Draco. “Hi, Luna,” he greeted her, smiling. “Harry loves your dancing,” she told him unprompted, and next to him, Blaise choked on his drink. “Let’s mingle with the Gryffindors, then,” Millie suggested, taking what must have been her sixth shot of vodka. “No way am I sitting over there watching Pansy make cow eyes at Granger,” Draco protested even as Luna gently tugged him out of his seat. 

“Luna, let’s dance!” Draco said instead, grabbing Blaise with his other hand and dragging them both to the middle of the floor. It wasn’t a very large floor, and no one was dancing, but the Weird Sisters had some new song out, fast-paced and catchy, and Draco began spinning Luna around to the beat. Blaise downed the rest of his drink, grabbing Theo and Millicent, who in turn grabbed Pansy and Granger, until Draco was sure that everyone he had ever went to school with was jumping and drunkenly dancing, annoying the rest of the equally intoxicated patrons.  
Suddenly, Draco found himself face-to-face with none other than the Boy Wonder himself. Potter’s glasses were slipping down his nose, and it was clear that his one dance lesson hadn’t made an impact yet. He was shuffling his feet back and forth, waving his arms like a struggling jellyfish. 

“Are you trying,” hic, “to fox trot, Pot-Potter?” Draco giggled, spinning to face Potter.

“Yeah,” Potter replied, an equally drunken, dopey grin on his face. “Slow, slow, quick, quick, right?”

Draco found it adorable. 

He missed a beat and knocked into Longbottom, who shoved him back but with a friendly grin. Draco was too deep immersed in his thoughts to register the gesture. Potter? Adorable? Where the hell had that thought come from? Draco turned to look at Potter again, but he was already immersed in competition with Weasley; evidently it was titled “Who Can Dance the Worst.” 

Draco was drunk, that’s all. He knocked back a bitter-tasting firewhiskey and grabbed Pansy. 

“Let’s dance!”


	2. one, two, and murder makes three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PI Potter to the rescue!

Bright light was piercing Harry’s eyelids. He groaned loudly, flinging his arm over his eyes. “Put the light out,” he mumbled, shifting to bring the blanket over his head - but the blanket wouldn’t budge. “People are sleeping, Potter, shut up,” an eerily familiar voice hissed. Harry’s eyes flew open, and he immediately regretted it. “Malfoy?” he whisper-yelled, his head pounding. “ _Shut_ _up_ , Potter!” came the reply, as a wave of nausea consumed Harry. “Where’s your loo?” he croaked, barely managing to hold his vomit down as Malfoy pointed to a door and Harry ran to go empty the contents of his stomach.

By the time he returned, Malfoy had evidently taken a Hangover-B-Gone, and had one waiting for Harry. As soon as he had downed the vile cure, Malfoy began talking. “We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. It seems that you were too drunk to Apparate and I took you here so that you wouldn’t Splinch yourself.” Harry exhaled in noisy relief. Malfoy, noting this, rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to spend any more time with your slimy Slytherin of a dance instructor. I have a private lesson scheduled in 15 minutes time, and yours is right after.” It was a Saturday, after all.

“Tweaks!” Malfoy called, clapping his hands together. A bright-eyed house-elf, dressed in what seemed to be a vivid red Christmas stocking with holes cut for the arms and legs, appeared out of nowhere. “Mister Draco is being calling for Tweaksie, sir!” By the high pitched voice and the tiny bow clipped on one of the ears as a fashion statement, Harry guessed it was a girl. “Eggs Benedict for me, and...” Malfoy trailed off, glancing at Harry. When he didn’t say anything, Malfoy hissed, “Breakfast, Potter! What do you want - toast, eggs, kippers?” Harry gaped. Was Malfoy really asking his house-elf to make them both breakfast? He pinched himself, and when he didn’t wake up, told Tweaks the elf, “Um, an omelet is fine, but uh, can you put mushrooms in mine?” The house-elf beamed. “Of course, Mister Draco and Mister Draco’s guest, sirs!” She bowed and did some sort of salute before Disaparating with a crack.

There was an incessant tapping at the window. Malfoy strode over, and for the first time, Harry noticed that he was shirtless. He tore his eyes away as Malfoy let the owl in, and it flew straight towards Harry’s head. Harry batted the owl away, taking a heavily folded parchment from its claws. “Shit, Malfoy, I don’t think I can make our lesson,” Harry said, his brow creasing. He glanced up at the blonde. “There’s been a murder.”

Malfoy glanced up from his mobile telephone. “Seems I’m in luck, Potter. Mrs. Collins’s daughter is ill, so I have a free day today.”

Harry cracked a grin. “Fancy coming with me to see a crime scene?”

Malfoy almost returned the smile. “Tweaks! We’ll be taking breakfast to go, please!”

-

“Harry Potter, private investigator, and plus one,” Harry told the Auror, and was waved through the Muggle-repelling barrier and into the flat. Neville was there, one arm around Hannah Abbott as she sobbed into his shoulder. “Harry, mate, I’m sorry for the short notice, I swear we’ll pay you, it’s just, it’s Celia, Hannah’s sister,” Neville told Harry in an undertone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry replied. “They’ve got Griffins on it, what a disaster,” Harry murmurs to Malfoy. “Don’t know why they’ve got you on it, Potter, it’s obviously a suicide,” barked a rotund Auror, hoisting his trousers higher up beneath his red robe. As soon as Griffins turned around, Harry rolled his eyes to Malfoy, who, oddly, hasn’t said a word so far. In fact, Harry noted, he looked rather green.

“It’s not a suicide, Griffins, this girl was murdered.” Griffins gaped at him. “She obviously hung herself! Even you could see that behind your glasses, Potter.” Harry didn’t dignify Griffins with a response as he swept out of the flat, leaving Malfoy to hurry after him.

“Why do you think Celia Abbott was murdered, Potter?” Malfoy asked, falling in step with Harry. “Griffins wouldn’t know evidence if it did a jig in front of him wearing nothing but a fig leaf,” Harry snorted, coming to a stop near a tiny storefront. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a café, and if they hadn’t stopped there, Malfoy wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

“The usual please, Wendy,” Harry nodded to the girl behind the counter. “A cappuccino for me, please,” Malfoy told her, following Harry as he slid into a cramped booth near the window. “Mademoiselle Florence’s has the best tea and pastries within a fifty-mile radius of Grimmauld Place,” Harry enthused, taking a large bite of treacle tart. “But it’s also both a Wizarding and Muggle café, and the booths all have Silencing charms around them.”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t trust a lot of people, do you, Potter?”

Harry ignored him. “You asked how I knew it was a murder. It’s a bit too soon to say before the autopsy, but Celia Abbott had a smudge of dirt on the windowsill and in the kitchen, but the rest of her house was spotless. She had a suicide note, but there was also cold dinner on the table. If she was planning to kill herself, why cook herself dinner?”

Malfoy frowned into his cappuccino. Suddenly, it didn’t seem as appetizing.

-

 _And a one, and a two, and a one, two, three, four_ , Draco counted off in his head, tipping his head forward and flinging his arm up in a pas de poisson. He landed and immediately spun and leapt twice, two chaine leaps, and ended up posed on the floor before pushing himself up into a fouette. A series of claps rang out in his studio, and Draco stumbled in the middle of his fourth spin.

“What the hell are you doing here, Potter?” Potter sheepishly shrugged off his coat. “I feel bad that I missed my lesson to drag you off to a murder. Can I make it up with a dance lesson?”

Draco sighed heavily. “I suppose we can’t go wrong with a simply waltz, Potter. Now, take my hand, and put your hand on my shoulder.” Potter stared at him until Draco gave him a look that clearly said, _Well? Get on with it._ Potter took one large step closer to Draco, placing his hand on the instructor’s shoulder. Draco put his hand carefully on Potter’s waist, staring down at his feet. If he concentrated, Draco could imagine he could feel the heat of Potter’s skin through his thin shirt. “It’s uh,” Draco began, in a strangled tone. He cleared his throat. “It’s a simple box step, Potter, just follow my lead. I step forward with my left, you step back with your right. Don’t look down at your shoes; it’s just a one-two-three count. Ready?”

Potter nodded, staring resolutely into Draco’s eyes as Draco waved his hand to have the music start to play. Draco stepped forward, leading Potter around the studio in large, sweeping circles. “You’re quite good at the waltz, Potter,” Draco murmured, and Potter seemed to edge closer to him. Their noses were almost touching. Draco could’ve sworn he saw Potter’s eyes flicker to his lips. Draco tightened his grip on Potter’s hip, and Potter licked his lips. “Malfoy, I— “

“Wow, the sexual tension in here could be cut with a knife!” a familiarly obnoxious voice rang out. Draco nearly fell as the two sprang away from each other, and he scowled at the girl in the doorway. “Pansy, what the hell do you want?” Pansy gave them both a wide, toothy grin. “I’m just checking up on my favorite crime-solving dancing duo! Tea anyone?” Draco exchanged a long glance with Potter, and, with a world-weary sigh, the three of them made their way upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that it took 6 months to write this! im so lazy oops  
> anyways here it is! surprise plot twist i made up a character and then killed her immediately  
> i was also binging miss fisher's murder mysteries on netflix while writing this so u can blame that for the inspo :)


	3. like the sauce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all it's been a hot minute since i wrote anything not for school lmao. also a happy belated sweet 16 to my best friend ever! <3 <3 <3

Draco used to hate Saturdays. At Hogwarts, nothing interesting ever happened on Saturdays, after the novelty of Hogsmeade wore off, and then he’d just sit and write essays. At home, after the war, Saturdays were the days that Aurors or other Ministry officials would drop by, checking to see if Narcissa and Draco were still house-bound (they were) while Lucius was in Azkaban.

Now, for some reason, Draco went to sleep every Friday night with a kind of happy feeling in his stomach – like the time he got food poisoning, but with emotions.  
Potter arrived that Saturday, almost three and a half minutes late for his lesson. Not that Draco was counting – but it was actually three minutes and twenty-one seconds. Draco promptly forgave him when he saw that Potter was carrying two steaming cups. “Vanilla cappuccino with two sugars,” Harry - er, Potter – announced as he waltzed in through Draco’s front door, as if he didn’t have a Floo. “What’s on the menu today, Draco?” he asked cheerfully, handing over the cup and waiting for Draco to take a long sip. “The salsa today, I think,” he answered distractedly, nudging the basement door open as the two made their way down to the studio. “It’s simple enough – a four beat rhythm, and, like the waltz, it’s a mirror of your partner’s movements.”

Draco put his cup down, and pliéd a few times to warm up. He then turned to Potter, scrutinizing his stance. “You’ll be leading your partner at the Ministry ball, so you’ll take lead this time, even though I’m taller.” Draco straightened a little at this announcement, and Potter looked petulant. “By two inches,” he muttered under his breath, but took his spot across from the blond. “Salsa can either be danced with or without touching your partner, but it’s easier to learn if I guide you by touch,” Draco told him, a pale pink blush flooding his neck and face, but he stubbornly held out his hand for Potter to clasp in a warm grip.

“As you step forward, I step back with the opposite foot,” Draco instructed, turning Potter in slow circles around the room. “Now, with music!”

Potter looked alarmed but determined. He got closer to Draco, close enough that Draco could see his own face reflected in Potter’s eyes. Draco waved a hand to start the music, an upbeat Latin song with a catchy melody. Potter, for all his stumbling through the Yule Ball, was exceptionally good at the salsa and the waltz. He confidently led Draco in dizzying figure eights around his studio, and he only stepped on Draco twice. Without saying a word, Potter snapped his fingers, and the mirrored dance studio became paneled with dark wood, and Draco and Potter’s shoes turned into traditional heeled shoes. Potter laughed at Draco’s astonishment, twirling him around and dipping him as the song ended. A rose was in between Potter’s teeth.

Draco cleared his throat. “Nifty bit of magic,” he murmured, aware of how he was clutching Potter’s shoulders, and promptly let go. He coughed again, reaching for his now-lukewarm cappuccino as he watched Potter return his dance studio as it was before. “Figured the salsa should be danced in the appropriate atmosphere,” Potter said, with an endearingly crooked grin.

“How’s your murder case going?” Draco asked to kill the silence. Potter started. “Oh! Thanks for reminding me – I was about to go get the coroner’s report on Celia’s cause of death.” He hesitated, looking unsure, “Want to come with me?”

Draco glanced at his watch. “My next lesson canceled on me, so,” he trailed off, and Potter finished his sentence. “Let’s go see a dead body!”

-

The coroner doing the autopsy was Julia Januskevicius, a Hufflepuff a few years younger than Draco. She and Potter got along well, and with a pang of jealousy, Draco wondered if she was the one that Harry wanted to impress with his dancing. She was pretty enough, Draco supposed, with brown hair and light eyes. Idly, he wondered whether or not Ha- Potter preferred blondes.

“The victim is Celia Abbott, age nineteen.” Probably just out of Hogwarts, then. “Victim has bruises on her throat, probably from the rope. Victim also has scratches and bruises on her arms,” Julia said, reading from her notes with a body in front of them, a white sheet on top. Potter looked excited. “So, it wasn’t a suicide, then? Celia was murdered?” Julia nodded, smiling a little at Potter. Draco scowled at her from behind Potter’s back, and felt a curl of satisfaction as she dropped her gaze.  
Draco ended up in Potter’s office, which was within walking distance of a fancy wizarding French restaurant Draco used to frequent. He averted his head as they passed it, feeling the surprised stares of the customers and waiters as Draco Malfoy, acquitted ex-Death Eater, walked next to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Get-On-Draco’s-Nerves and Savior of the Wizarding World.

Potter seemed oblivious to these stairs as he let himself into his office. “Welcome back, Harry. Hello, Draco,” greeted Luna Lovegood, who was sitting cross legged on a desk and hovering slightly with her eyes closed, and holding what looked like a bright blue, overlarge strawberry in her hands. Squinting, Draco saw that the desk that she was sitting on had a little plaque labeled LUNA LOVEGOOD, RECEPTIONIST. “Hi, Luna,” Draco told her, and Potter did the same as he opened a door, holding it open for Draco to walk through.  
Potter’s office was decorated with newspaper clippings with headlines like, Minister Hermione Granger Sets New Record of Laws Passed in Her First Month of Office; Head Auror Ron Weasley Catches Deadly Serial Killer, and even one about Draco – Former Death Eater Draco Malfoy Cleared of all Charges – exclusive photos from the trial on page 32. Draco flushed red.

“Headlines of people I lo- er, I’m friends with,” Harry explained, following Draco’s gaze. He pointed to newspaper labeled Holyhead Harpies Player Ginny Weasley Scores 16 Times in One Game, Harpies Advance to the World Cup! “That one also happened to be the day I opened this office and solved my first case,” Potter said, gazing fondly at the moving photograph of Weasley cheering with her teammates.

After a moment, Draco cleared his throat, and Potter seemed to shake himself out of his memories. “Any suspects so far?” Draco asked, changing the subject. He didn’t think he could handle it if Potter kept staring at the Weaselette’s photograph like a lovesick puppy. Potter strode over to his desk, picking up a notepad and a pen. “A couple,” he said. “I interviewed all of Celia’s neighbors and four of them don’t have alibis that another person can corroborate. I still don’t understand why nobody heard anything – the apartments are very close together.” Draco hmm’ed at this, glancing over Potter’s shoulder at the list of suspects.

Articus D’Artistant (W)  
Tatiana Goldstein (M)  
Felix Barrow III (M)  
Kitty Vance (W)

“It’s a mixed neighborhood, so I’ve labeled them as wizard or Muggle,” Potter said. Draco nodded in understanding, pointing to the first wizard on the list, Articus. “Who’s that? Did he go to Hogwarts with us?” Potter shook his head. “He went to Beauxbatons. Let’s start with him?”

-

Articus D’Artisant was a very old Frenchman who lived alone with a single lizard named Mary Ann. Mary Ann was a giant, seven-foot-long iguana who had the roam of the apartment, and, quite frankly, was a bit terrifying. Draco didn’t even know that lizards could be domesticated, but the proof was right in front of him, taking a nap on the couch and occasionally farting.

“I could ‘ave sworn you were ‘ere last week,” Articus said, squinting at Potter suspiciously. “Yes, Monsieur D’Artistant, I just have a few follow up questions,” Potter explained, painstakingly. Mary Ann farted again, and drooled on the couch. Draco shuddered. “You said you were here with Mary Ann on the night of June fourteenth?” Articus’s hand shook as he reached for his teacup. “Yes, I was.” He glared at Potter doubtfully. “Weren’t you ‘ere just last week?”

Draco sighed.

Tatiana Goldburg was a young woman with a heavy Russian accent. She lived with her son, but he was out with his friends that night. “Did you like Celia Abbott?” Potter inquired. Tatiana nodded earnestly. “Yes; she and I would sometimes come together to my house to bake. I always loved her recipes,” she sniffled a little. Potter patted her awkwardly on the back.

Draco sighed.

Felix Barrow III was…attractive. His apartment was more of a bachelor pad, decked out with a television and more black boxes with buttons that Draco couldn’t make sense of. “Hey, PI Potter,” Felix said in a bored drawl, leaning against the doorframe. His accent was American. As Draco peered around Potter’s broad shoulders to introduce himself, Felix’s straight-faced expression turned into a warm smile. He threw an arm around Draco’s shoulder, steering him inside. “Hey there, gorgeous,” Felix grinned, and Draco couldn’t help but smile back.

“There was a murder, Mr. Barrows, and you’re under suspicion in this investigation,” Potter snapped, towering over Felix and Draco as Felix lead Draco to a comfortable couch. Draco quickly detached himself from Felix’s vice grip, moving to stand next to Potter. “Can you tell us where you were the night of June fourteenth?”  
Felix rolled his eyes. “As I’ve said, I had a lady friend over the apartment,” he winked. “What is this lady friend’s name?” Potter pressed, crossing his arms. He was intimidating, Draco noticed. He wondered why criminals didn’t just give up at the sight of him. “I told y’all, I don’t know her name. I met her at a club, she said her name was Cinnamon Sugar – I think she was a dancer,” Felix told them, looking petulant. “What club?” Draco piped up. Potter, who had opened his mouth to speak, promptly shut it and scribbled the name on his notepad as Felix answered, “Club Mystique.”

Before going to follow up on Felix’s alibi, Potter insisted they stop by Kitty Vance’s apartment, but strangely, no one answered when they knocked. Through the door, Draco could hear two voices – a high-pitched female voice and the deeper voice of a man with heavy footsteps who kept stomping around. Potter pounded on the door for a few more minutes before it became clear that Kitty Vance was otherwise preoccupied with someone else.

Potter and Draco, with little else to do, visited Club Mystique that night. Cinnamon Sugar was indeed at Club Mystique, and she was a dancer. She had propositioned Harry, and her friends Powdered Sugar and Brown Sugar (what was it with the sugary names? Draco wondered) had practically sat on Draco’s lap before he pushed them off. “Sorry, we’re, uh,” Potter stammered, and Draco grabbed his arm. “Dating! We’re dating. Very happily in love,” Draco rambled, catching his terrified reflection in the back of a polished spoon. “Cinnamon, darling, where are you?” a weirdly familiar deep voice sung out, and Cinnamon winked at Potter and Draco. “Coming, baby!” she called, sliding off Potter and sauntering away.

“Something’s shady about this club,” Potter murmured to Draco. Under the watchful gaze of Powdered Sugar and Brown Sugar, Potter caressed Draco’s cheek to make it look like he was whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Draco gave a fake little giggle. “Oh, Harry, you scoundrel,” he simpered. “Go get me a drink, won’t you, darling?” Potter, understanding the opportunity to investigate, slipped away, but not before kissing Draco on the cheek. Draco was glad that the strobe lights in the club made it impossible for anyone to catch the pink flush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “Y’all are so cute,” Brown Sugar gushed. An American. Draco tried not to roll his eyes. “How long have you two been together?” The other stripper – sorry, exotic dancer – inquired, her eyes suspiciously shiny and her pupils enormous. Draco leaned back a little bit. “Uh, ever since school,” he said, wishing desperately he had a glass of water or something. The music changed to a fast song with a thumping beat, and Powdered Sugar squealed. “Ooh, I love this song! I wonder who’s on tonight,” she mused.

Draco propped his chin in his hand, leaning his elbow on the table. “How come you three aren’t onstage tonight?” he inquired curiously. Brown Sugar instantly clammed up, and Powdered Sugar, oblivious to her friend, answered, “Well, Boss gave us a special job tonight!” She giggled and Draco quickly masked her disgust at the sight of a bit of white powder residue on her sleeve. Brown Sugar discreetly but sharply elbowed Powdered Sugar, just as Draco, feigning innocence, asked, “What kind of job?”  
“None of your fucking business, ain’t it,” Brown Sugar snapped, turning her glare from Powdered Sugar to Draco. He raised his hands up guilelessly. “Didn’t mean to be rude,” Draco said smoothly, winking at Powdered Sugar. “No harm done,” she replied, grinning goofily at him.

Luckily, Potter returned at that moment, carrying a bottle of beer and a glass of something bright blue with cherries floating in it. It was steaming, smoke rolling off of it, and Draco barely restrained himself from making a face. “Thank you, baby,” he said. Draco decided not to over-analyze how easily it was for him to call Potter affectionate pet names.  
“I love this song,” Powdered Sugar repeated, grabbing Draco’s wrist before he had a chance to try and dispose of his alcohol-poisoning inducing blue monstrosity. “Um,” he said intelligently as the stripper dragged him out on the dance floor. Onstage he could see a girl shedding her clothing as people on the floor cheered and threw slips of paper at her – Muggle notes, he supposed. Squinting at the gyrating redhead onstage, he noticed that her eyes were suspiciously glazed, before his attention was directed towards Powdered Sugar and how she was attempting to thrust her chest into Draco’s line of vision.

“May I cut in?”

For once, Draco appreciated being saved as Potter spun him around to face him.

“Thank fucking Merlin,” Draco said, though it was more like yelling over the overwhelming bass line of the song. “Don’t like staring at coked-up tits, Draco?” Potter smirked. Obviously, he had more than just the bottle of beer. “We’re investigating, or did you forget?” the blonde frowned at his supposed partner-in-crime. Potter apparently didn’t have as much to drink as Draco believed, because he seemed to sober up quickly. “I think the club is a front for an illegal drug smuggling ring,” Potter leaned in to whisper into Draco’s ear, both swaying with the beat as the song changed once more. Draco nodded, glancing around the club. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered to Potter, and for once, they agreed on something.

“Didn’t get a chance to really practice the moves you’ve been teaching me,” Potter said glibly as they stumbled into the crisp night air. Draco managed a laugh. “You seemed to be perfectly fine on your feet,” he teased, shivering a little. “Are you cold? Here, wear my coat,” he said, shrugging it off to drape around Draco’s shoulders. “I couldn’t possibly,” Draco protested weakly, even as he wrapped it around himself. “We should find somewhere to apparate in,” Potter said, glancing down an alley to check if it was clear of muggles. Draco opened his mouth to agree, but he heard a shout coming from the direction of the nightclub. Both Harry and Draco turned to see Cinnamon Sugar, who seemed perfectly alright in her skimpy outfit in the cold. “A gift for you, Harry Potter,” she said, ignoring Draco and smiling at Harry. She handed him a tan envelope, which Harry took, albeit a bit cautiously. “Who is this gift from?” he asked, but Cinnamon Sugar just giggled. “From your secret admirer,” she winked, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Ta, darlings!” she said, flouncing back inside Club Mystique.

Draco reached for the envelope in curiosity, but Harry grabbed his wrist. “It could be dangerous,” he warned. “I’m going to take his back to the lab to have it analyzed,” he hesitated. “Would you like to come with me?”

Draco grinned. “Is this mystery too much for PI Potter to handle?” he smirked, leaning a little into Potter.

“Well, where would I be without my dancing partner-in-crime?” Potter retorted, as a blush stained Draco’s face. “When you put it that way, I suppose I have no choice but to help you,” Draco said, biting his bottom lip.

“Let’s hope the lab is still open,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand as they apparated away with a crack.

And if Draco clutched Potter’s hand tighter than necessary, or if he smiled a bit more than usual – well. Who was going to judge?

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr - http://egoistiical.tumblr.com/  
> you can also find me at harrysriddle.tumblr.com
> 
> my twitter - twitter.com/janamdd


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